


Exo-Politics: Intergalactic Party

by YogurtTime



Category: Akanishi Jin - Fandom, Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: AU, Alien Biology, Bloodplay, Cyberpunk, Handcuffs, M/M, Multi, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 05:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11960313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/YogurtTime
Summary: The usually unenthused Agent Akanishi Jin of the Gold Galaxy’s Civil Investigations Unit finds himself tied up (in more ways than one) after a heated encounter with an especially attractive life form. Criminally insane masterminds aside, Jin just wants a sparkling evaluation this term.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written and posted during the summer of 2011 for je_fqfest.

 

 

The sixth planet in Gold Galaxy has the humidity of a rainforest. The streets, buildings, metal and stone are drenched in a coat of steaming moisture. The windows of Neo-Tokyo’s Civil Investigative HQ are painted with large droplets of rain, pattering endless. Fogged by the heat; each outside passerby’s breath is an addition to the clouds of mist. It could be said the human body was not formed to exist in this climate.

But man’s number one M.O. is to thrive, to adapt.

The life forms (The Millennia) existing here were accommodating, welcoming even to the point of allowing the first population of man to disperse and colonize. They willingly passed on their knowledge of harnessing steam and neo-plasma electricity to operate huge systems, computers even. The human race could go on, multiply, wreak their slow parasitic existence on the plains of a once simple planet.

Jin knows that was all thousands of years ago, though; he also knows he didn’t pay much attention in history class so as far as what he _knows_ could be considered a moot point.

Right now, though, he is a hundred percent in the theory that if he shuts his eyes hard enough, he’ll see little cyclones of colour blotches on the frames of his vision. Turning his cubicle into a mini-rave: that’s boss.

The file lands on Jin’s desk with a decisive flap right next to the heel of his boot. Jin’s eyes slide open to meet a default stern expression searing over a large nose at him.

“Get your feet off the desk,” Nakamaru snaps, rounding the cubicle and glowering with concentrated temerity through his (possibly X-ray vision-empowered in Jin’s popular opinion) brass monocle.

Jin doesn’t move. Conserving energy is important in his line of work. Plus it’s his own desk. “What’s this?”

Nakamaru’s gaze darts around the office quickly, clearly to make sure no one else is listening in. Only Agent K breezes by holding a large box marked _Classified_ overflowing with case files. “It’s your _evaluation_ , Agent A,” Nakamaru finally hisses.

“Nakamaruu~” Jin says, sort of sing-song, chews the inside of his cheek before his legs slide down off the side of the desk languidly. “I thought that was next month.”

“Just _look_ at it, Jin,” He presses shiftily, still gazing around the office at the other agents. Their apathy is like a direct attack and their Superior Chief looks a bit injured. “And call me Chief since... “ A sigh. “…that’s who I’m paid to be.”

Jin nods lethargically, flipping the manila folder open. “Heh, ‘perfect attendance’, fuck yeah…” Next page over. “Wait…’Emotionally withdrawn’?!”

“Now he awakens…” says Nakamaru, which is a bit cold considering.

“Wha… ‘Sexual harassment reports from Public Relations?!’ Pi’s my buddy! He wrote those complaints as a joke!”

“And submitted them?”

“By accident maybe…OK, right…‘Disruptive during debriefing’? Oh come on, now that you’ve got Kame on the rundown, who the fuck wouldn’t be these days? His eyebrows twitch; it’s funny.”

“There’s nothing funny about Agent K’s acquired facial tic, Jin.”

“I…wait, what does ‘gallows humour’ mean?”

Nakamaru’s looks at him wearily. “I’m thinking two months ago when Agent S accidentally swallowed that prophylactic…”

It’s a second after he snorts that Jin remembers not to validate the seriously inaccurate evaluation. He grimaces, flipping through the pages of mean words. Anyway he’d made sure to leave the scene before making fun of Shige.

“He almost _died_ , Jin. They had to put a vibratory glass tube down his throat to keep the rubber from inflating in his esophagus!”

That just sets him off. He hides his peal of laughter with a sudden onset of coughing.

“They’ll let you go, Jin,” he states solemnly. “You’ll be packing your desk up in less than two weeks once evaluations are due.”

Jin sobers. “Shit, Chief, no one put a gun to your head when you were writing this. Gimme a break.”

Nakamaru folds his arms. “I have no reason to lie if someone is dragging my investigative team down.”

That hurts. “I thought you liked me, Nakamaru. I thought what we had was special.”

“What are you even---No, I’m not doing this…never mind.” Nakamaru reaches over to grab the file back. “I wanted you to get a good look at this before I sent it upstairs in three weeks. I want to be able to rewrite this, Jin. But you need to give me a reason. Prove to me how much you want this job.”

Jin can’t hold back his smirk. _Well now_.

Nakamaru sees this and rubs the bridge of his nose with slow, patient circles, carefully under his monocle. “That was not a sexual proposition.”

Jin’s face falls. “I-I…didn’t think it was, you perv.”

“Jin, calling your superior a perv is kind of counter-productive to having your evaluation withdrawn. I was present during your training and intake; I know you’re quick under pressure, you have above-adequate reflexes, and you’re innovative. I saw how eager you were when you first made requirement. Dammit, there was a _reason_ you were a favourite!” Nakamaru slams his palm flat on the desk and looks subsequently embarrassed that he did so. Agent U standing by the photocopier shoots him a commiserating frown. “Anyway, all that goes to waste while you keep waiting for the others to take on case files…what the hell happened, Jin?”

Jin doesn’t really know what happened.

Nakamaru swallows, looking around before adjusting his own velvet fedora. “Get on a case. A sensible one you know you can close quickly—“

“Uh…Chief?”

Jin swivels his chair around at the voice while Nakamaru glances up. Shige peaks around the cubicle wall a bit hesitantly. Jin tries very valiantly not to leer even though funny things happen to Shige when he’s nervous.

“There’s been a new case file opened on an underground lab just on the edge of town.” He holds up a manila envelope, working just as furiously not to make eye-contact. “Alie-I mean Millennial remains were found; I have pictures.”

It’s getting to five: quittin’ time. Pi will be finished filing by now…Shige’s already boring.

Nakamaru waves him over. “Let me see.”

Shige hesitates. “In here?” He makes a vague gesture circling the vicinity of Jin’s cubicle.

Nakamaru folds his arms. “Agent S, if you’ve something you want to show to me, then it doesn’t matter where or when, if I say ‘let me see’, I don’t need my agents getting shy.”

Jin wonders whether Nakamaru is even aware that he could work as a comedian; the type that stands beside the funny guy and sets him up for that killer one-liner. ( _He wants your pants down!_ ) But then again, that monocle…

Jin’s train of thought is dismissed by the photos Shige scatters over Jin’s desk displaying glass tanks, floating specimens, white bodies and large equipment.

Chief sighs as he paws through the photos. “How many victims were I.D’d?”

“None. There were no aliens listed on the missing person’s database.”

Jin frowns at the clock. It’s officially five. Nakamaru is standing in front of his chair, leaned over the desk like he lives there or something and there’s Shige all a-lurk in the doorway to his cubicle.

“Of course there weren’t.” Nakamaru begins to pore over the pages of text making tutting noises of disapproval. “No one ever reports a missing alien. The Governing Premier would never allow it. He and that family of his. Fucking politics,” he mutters.

Jin can’t help glancing at some of these vivid photos. What looks like various close-ups of body parts, limbs, torsos or whatever, large needle bruises surrounding a black puncture in the skin with the translucent white skin covered in rough black lines like roots, intricate like a wrought iron pattern. Jin hasn’t met many aliens, but everyone and their uncle knows what they look like; the visible differences that set them apart from the human race. Integration of the species had only come to being just before he was born. Something to do with the Governing Family’s newest Premier wanting to show a sense of societal progress where there seemed no direction to move forward to. All fuzzy stuff. Jin never really cared for politics.

“What are those?” he queries, pointing at the red needle bruises.

Nakamaru gives him a sidelong over the pages in his hand while Shige bites his pinky fingernail nervously. “That’s where they had the tubes, draining all of their fluids for whatever reason.”

That’s just horrifying. Jin doesn’t get some of these sick bastards. He thinks Pi should probably buy the drinks tonight. Trauma, you know. Nakamaru is still watching him frowning at the photos and Jin can feel it like a red laser pointer. Clearly installed in the monocle.

“Agent A,” he begins slowly. “I think you could be of use—“

“Hey, five after five, man!”

Jin swivels his chair again and Pi is leaning over the top of cubicle, hanging over his head with a big grin.

“Last one down there buys the first two rounds!” he calls, leaping out of his chair.

Pi vanishes. Jin may have barrelled Shige over when he shot out of the cubicle. He apologises, but _seriously_ , blocking emergency exits; they teach you that shit in first year.

 

 

 

The concrete steams. White and almost acrid it piles up, towering in clouds against the city lights. Evaporation patterns are constant and the air is stifling with moist heat. The dark buildings with their sheets of rusting metal look aluminium foiled. In the blurry distance, the lights glare down at Jin between the holes of hissing mist; it strikes Jin like a gaze and he turns his collar up.

“What was Chief after you about today?”

Jin grins a little. “Sexual harassment mostly.”

Pi chokes on a guffaw, but sobers quickly when Jin doesn’t join in. He looks at him, all studying eyes. “You know, you’re a good talker when you’re fired up; you could do some pretty awesome things for your department. I’ve seen you in action.”

Jin grimaces, but doesn’t reply.

“Maybe if you asked for a department change…you could come downstairs and work with me—“

“I don’t wanna desk job, Pi,” Jin mumbles into his shot glass.

“Right,” he returns a bit softly. “Well…”

Some guy leans in between them to order something, slurring and nearly falling into Jin’s lap. Pi manages to spill his drink and he mutters something that sounds hilariously graphic. Distraction, though served, Jin can’t shake the impression that he’s being watched.

The upper-level bar counter, swarmed by people, leather, and water-proof sleek material. The tepid air breathing inward from the open arches of the building makes him feel dizzy. Jin feels it brush against the back of him and he can’t help swivelling his chair to look out at the drunken masses.

“What’s up, man?”

He hears Pi’s question almost like a dream from yesterday. His eyes meet something shining, fixed on him not far to the right of the bar. A hesitant smile completely alight just for him.

Jin never really comes out drinking with Pi to go cruising for dick, but he believes in the serendipity of sex. Connection, seeing nonexistent deities for one single fuck-glory second, shit like that.

“Be right back,” he says in Pi’s frowning direction.

A redhead. Black hood and clear brown and sly eyes that just shine like there’s…metal, maybe. Something special and Jin can almost sort of taste it. He’s already dropped the disappointments of today and he can focus on fixing it all tomorrow. Just now, though, that smile. The dull lights of the bar seem to buzz like starfire over those pink lips quirked up at him. He sidesteps, moseying through swaying bodies, the soles of his boots nearly sliding on someone’s spilled mess. The smile widens, row of teeth. So pretty.

Jin only sees what’s wrong when he steps right up to him.

The man is barefoot under the white hems of his frayed trousers, the wide black hood spilling over his shoulders is just a thin silk cloth and nothing more. Even beneath that gorgeous smile, he’s trembling, dazed, on edge for Jin’s reaction. Still, with it all, stark and frightening even in the dim lights are familiar solid black lines, thick, deep vein-like patterns running over this man’s collarbones, sinking into the dip of bare skin visible under the fabric wrapped around him.

Millennia. Alien.

“You’re not…” Jin begins. His lips are numb from four consecutive shots.

Jin knows he must’ve made some air time, jumping back when the tall creature launches forward, grabbing him just around his collar, long, almost slippery frame grazing against his in an immediate kinetic contact. Brown eyes, glazed with that metallic sheen, implore at him, still trembling. “I need you,” he says, voice lower than Jin expects, and Jin’s already got his hands braced away from it, trying not to touch, not sure why.

Jin looks around to make sure no one sees this, sees him with this possibly insane-not-really-a-human-man-exactly thing, taller than he is, holding him like he’s bigger. No one pays them any mind. They look like a couple pressed near the wall, rocking with the music but it’s really how the man teeters in Jin’s reluctant hold. Yet still the man’s clutch is desperate, thin strong fingers curled into his jacket and the creature isn’t breathing normally, soft gasps but unhealthy. It’s only when Jin finally returns the hold to keep from falling that his fingers make contact with warmth and the damp. The man slumps against his chest and Jin raises his wet fingers to see them stained with black as deep as ink.

Alien blood.

“You’re hurt,” he would later remember muttering. It’s a switch, training and regression. Don’t make a scene. People get skittish about aliens, _especially_ injured aliens. The finger of responsibility will be pointed to keep others out of trouble and the violent crimes… he can already hear Nakamaru’s sigh, “fucking politics” as he enfolds the shaking creature in his arms and makes for the door.

The outside air is sulphuric at his hour, deep stains of industrial gas mixing with the steam. Sweat breaks out immediately at his temples. Jin half lifts him when he stumbles. He can feel the blood seeping into his shirt sleeves by the time they reach the cab pool.

“Destination?” the Navi-Drive screen prompts as Jin pushes the Auto-Cab’s sliding metal door open.

“Hospi-“ he starts to say, as the thick, black blood drips little spots on the dark leather seats. No. He needs to get a number for a proper hospital where they can deal with this discreetly. Backup? Well…

The man’s knees brush his as his head lolls against the back of the seat, a hard brush crushing the fabric of Jin’s trousers, dragging the cloth a bit upward carelessly, kind of wonderfully.

An electric drive rings through him in all sorts of ways until he shuts the cab door behind himself, running his badge over the screen’s ID pad. “Apartment,” he mutters.

The cab rumbles as it lifts before shooting forward into the air traffic. The fog mist of the city crashes over the windows around them and the painfully thin man in Jin’s arms stifles an injured moan, trying to sit upright. Jin, worried he may be injuring him more by hanging on so tightly, pulls off his own coat, wrapping it over the being before he allows him to settle back.

A low, sighing mutter and Jin leans toward him to hear. “Sorry, what’s that?” His own voice sounds strange to him. Concern, helplessness.

Zooming bars of coloured, city light glide over that strangely delicate frame. Under the dark hood, the fluorescence lights his fair face with a preternatural glow. Eyes are slits, pink lips parted and breathing shallowly to the point that each rise of his wiry body comes with a soft sound. And the voice of it is low in the way that a singer might growl or at least Jin knows the sound reminds him of something very raw, just so basic. “I’m Koyama,” it says succinctly. “Koyama Keiichiro.”

The cab is hot, the humidity from outside is leaking in, deep, over the leather seats, into Jin’s veins. “Akanishi Jin,” he mutters back.

“I—“ a deep breath. “I know.”

 

 

Jin moved into this shit apartment the night before his first day as an agent at C.I. HQ. The peeling, white, papered paneling has been the cave wall of his career so far, and just switching on the lights reminds him of this each and every time. This is the earliest and the soberest he’s stepped through his door in months.

The weak breaths in his ear call him back to present. Jin figures he should get Koyama bandaged up before scrolling through a phonebook for a Millennial embassy.

All that Jin says as he helps him toward his bathroom are half-formed bits of phrases. Apostrophic words as Koyama, towering a bit above him, brushes into the room at a wilful stagger.

The buzz of Jin’s dull bathroom light, cold water, Koyama’s white clad knees dangling off his counter, tight bandages and the brush of soaked frayed towels. The creature’s eyes are golden brown, fox-like and narrow, studying as Jin slides the now clinging fabric off Koyama’s shoulders and it’s stark in the glare, the black lines over bare, pale, golden skin; flaking trails of dried blood lining his arms. Jin steps back, a little startled and Koyama’s eyes widen.

“It’s all right,” he says suddenly, tone careful and kind, taking the wet towel from Jin. “I’ll do it. I don’t need you for this.”

Jin swallows. The words ring back to the bar. _I need you_ , he’d said. Jin feels mostly like he’s stepped somewhere outside himself, inches from something otherworldly, only half-clothed. His hips look almost delicate, white cloth barely hugging at them, smooth fabric loosely framing the contour of the stretch of skin leading up to his stomach.

“You’re not bleeding anymore…” Jin says dumbly, the dry marks taking his mind somewhere other than the deviant, skin-hungry place it was going.

Koyama makes a noncommittal sound and it leaves Jin a bit incredulous when it’s followed by an apologetic look.

“How… did it happen? Those cuts.”

Koyama cradles his right arm, and the actual cut is just in the crook of it, a small deep incision that looks bled dry. “They just keep reopening,” Koyama sighs, dabbing the now stained towel against it. “There’s someone who can close them permanently, but he’s...” His mouth clamps shut and he darts a fearful look at Jin.

That barely makes sense. The agent in him wants to switch on interrogation mode, but just looking at Koyama, Jin feels a strange bubble of guilt settle in his gut. People that look like Koyama, that behave this way-- from the short time that Jin has watched him—do not deserve to be hurt this badly. So it feels, in the winding puzzle of Jin’s logic, that holding him here, unable to fix whatever secret problems he has, Jin feels wholly and painfully responsible.

“Jin-kun?”

The title startles him. And those sad, caramel drops for eyes…make his insides quake.

“It’s Jin. I gotta take you to a hospital, OK? Find someone who can fix you up, find what you’re looking for…”

His words float upward, to some mess of oblivion when Koyama reaches out, catches at the left side of his coat opening, lower lapel, thumb tracing a nervous circle, head bowed. “Please, _no_ ,” he says and Jin thinks _Fuck_ because it is immediately apparent to him that all Koyama needs to do is whisper in _that_ tone, make it low enough to be _that_ type of growl and Koyama could have any damn thing he wanted.

Koyama doesn’t drop his hold from Jin’s coat, only slides forward on his perch, legs flexing forward and Jin can’t help feeling embarrassed at the firestrike of tension that jumps from his marrows into his veins. “You’ve got blood all over you,” Koyama murmurs. “All over your coat.”

Jin forces a grin, despite the want shudder coming up inside him. “I’ll say I’ve gotten into tie-dye patterns.”

That smile reappears, the same one from the bar riddled with a heady effect, glowing. It’s the kind Jin can’t quite find the right comparison for. It doesn’t remind him of TV personalities or ads on perfect teeth. It just makes him think of warm invitations, decadent and pink-lipped provocative in just the way precisely that it had motivated Jin to cross an entire room of the staggering inebriated to get to him. Jin brushes his palm over his face vigorously, hoping to clear the cells in his head. “All right then. What’ve you got in mind?” he asks, tone as light as he can manage.

In the light, the lines of Koyama’s angular features gleam, and it’s with the inside of his ankles that he hooks himself around Jin, dragging him in, slipping shaking but sure hands into the heat under Jin’s coat. “You,” he just says and all sensible neuro-transmitters to Jin’s brain halt in favour of the rush of blood straight downward.

It just seems so easy. Koyama’s lips part, open under his, tongue gliding over Jin’s, soft slack-mouthed encouraging sound when Jin’s coat slides off and he has the moist heat of Koyama’s skin grazing him through his shirt. Jin experiences an instant lightning awe at his own quivering and the strength in the rough tug on his lapel. Koyama’s tongue is long, flicking against the underside of Jin’s, digging in a bit softly in a thrillingly invasive way, expert-like. Helpless, Jin turns to putty, fingertips- nails raking up Koyama’s spine, heart hammering at the little shudders that Koyama vibrates him with.

Hard knees slide up against Jin’s sides at the same time that Koyama cups his jaw in a surprisingly possessive gesture, tilting his head downward, teeth just grazing the corner of Jin’s mouth. There’s nothing weak in the way that Koyama takes over, right hand sliding down, hooking a finger in one of Jin’s belt loops, hissing a little when Jin’s hips tuck between his thighs.

It’s the marks and the scars that keep Jin from being too rough, but for every miniscule second that he stills, Koyama seems to imprison him tighter, paralyzing him with greedy touches and invasions of his mouth. Jin presses Koyama back against the bathroom mirror, reaching down to slip his fingers along the loose part between the tight skin of Koyama’s hips and the cotton of his trousers. He laps the skin of Koyama’s throat into his mouth, scraping his tongue over his Adam’s Apple, tasting the vibrations of Koyama’s deep, plaintive groans, thighs coming higher around Jin’s waist until the glance of his hard bulge casts just faintly over Jin’s.

Clasps, fingers digging a little too hard, breaths getting harsher. Jin tries to keep sanity in it while he slips his hands into Koyama’s trousers, heel of his hand applying pressure on the head of Koyama’s cock, closing his fingers around the shaft. Jin gets a real feel for Koyama’s skin. Something about it, milky and silk to the fingertips makes Jin want to feel his naked body against him, wants to fuck him, spread him out on the bed all a lovely mess, and rock into him, see those strong hands fist into the sheets, making low cadent noises with that beautiful voice of his.

Koyama starts to buck into the funnel of his fist, creating his own pace of friction, keening sobs jumping out of him. Jin’s hand slows, creating the arch in Koyama’s back, melding against Jin’s palm. “Slowly,” Jin keeps whispering, but Koyama is murmuring unintelligibly into his hair, seemingly lost in an empty world of surfacing completion.

Between nips at Koyama’s lips, a name starts to breathe out, gasping beginnings of it. “J—“ Koyama groans, humming it out when he closes his mouth over Jin’s once again, so deeply in hunger, exploring, fingers now threaded through Jin’s hair. Faster and further, Jin follows the curve of Koyama’s throat downward as Koyama pulls away to brace himself against the bathroom counter, now riding forward against Jin’s hand, lip caught between his teeth, eyes glazed.

“J—“ he says once more before his voice falls into a long, keening whine and he spills over Jin’s wrist. His eyes darken as he falls back, grabbing Jin at the collar, breathing into his jaw, and then dreamily, distant he snaps in a harsh, almost accusing growl. “I waited for so _long_ `…”

At any other time, Jin wouldn’t have cared about words when he was locked in something as breathless consummate as this. Perhaps it was the unsettling nature of their meeting, all the blood, the fact that-- despite all the eye-rolling details--- Koyama would be Jin’s first time with a Millennia. Sentiment being something you felt rather than expressed.

Anyway, fact being fact: the whole thing’s weird to begin with and he just…

“Waited for so long for who?” His hand stills and those shining, metallic brown eyes glitter up puzzled at him between slits. A flash of realisation, recognition, the look of someone waking up out of a very _very_ good dream.

The speed at which Koyama is able to still despite being nearly delirious seconds before just startles Jin. Together, within the interval of their silence, his breathing catches up with him, a distancing tandem of their chests pressed together, heartbeats still racing.

“I’m…sorry,” Koyama says breathlessly, tone genuinely contrite. His lips are gorgeous all swollen and kissed out like that. He slides back, curled-in hands pressing Jin away, not simple embarrassment, mainly mortification. “This isn’t why I was supposed to…I didn’t come to you for this.”

The immediate separation makes Jin wish he hadn’t said a thing. There’s no calculation that could derive sense from what just happened, but that Koyama’s warmth wasn’t for him. “Why did you come then?” He lets him go, stepping back properly, aware that his jeans are going to remain tight for a while. “…why were you _supposed_ to?”

Koyama starts to fidget, long-fingered hands tightly fisted over his thighs. “I need you to help me. I need to see someone again. Someone in prison…I-I need you to help me get him free,” he mutters softly, uncertain.

Jin frowns. “Why me?”

The fidgeting intensifies, nervous energy. “A-aren’t you a Civil Agent?”

“That’s a lot of info to have on someone you just met at a bar—even my name, you knew…”

“You’re the only agent I know about!” Koyama replies a bit coolly, slips down from his perch skittishly, looking around the small space of the bathroom, anywhere but at Jin. “He told me about you before he left me. He said you’re the one I should go to; he’d watched you for a long time. He said only you would help…”

Jin feels a bit of a cold shiver go up his spine. “…Who…is he?”

Koyama’s entire frame tightens, slack and languid shoulders shirking up, fists still clenched but knuckles swimming white. “The man I need to see again. He’s been arrested…”

Jin chews his lip. This is the cue for some real bull shit. Jin hates bullshit. “When?” he asks, his resignation vivid. “When was he arrested, I mean?”

“Recently. _Very_ recently. And he wants out.”

Jin folds his arms, slice of unease riding through him. “Well…I don’t know any criminals.”

Koyama’s eyes are burning with a sharp steel, his entire countenance towering and different from the pliant, needy frame wrapped around Jin only moments before. Startling the way he’s even more striking like this, his strong jaw flexing with stern tension. “Well, he’s not a criminal.”

 

 

“Dude, last night was very uncool. If you wanted to go home, you could’ve just said…” Pi informs him sullenly on the elevator ride up to their respective floors.

Jin hadn’t slept. Pi’s words sort of drift over him like a soothing wave. He’d left Koyama at his apartment, untouchable and distant after their conversation, freshly showered in just a pair of Jin’s undershorts, in _Jin’s_ soft, warm bed. That strong, beautiful body spread lazily between Jin’s sheets, breathing shallowly into Jin’s pillows. Some serious bull shit, really.

Jin had made his nest on his narrow living room sofa, but his head was still swimming with it. Explanations that didn’t cut it ( _He’d be categorised under Millennial. Find him… and he’ll tell you everything_ ), vague details of what Koyama wanted from him ( _Even if you can’t get him. Just—I need the name of the prison,_ please _, Jin, I’m begging you_ ), the horror sitting in the plaintive fact that Jin wanted so desperately to do all of this for him…no questions asked. Only the expectation that maybe he had a chance to touch that fucking gorgeous sleek skin again, have him squirming in his arms, rocking to Jin’s rhythm, gasping and groaning like last night, saying _his_ name, helpless… _damn_. None of this is smart and he can already see his future swirling clockwise down the proverbial toilet as the lift takes him upwards.

“Pi, when I lose my job, and can’t pay my rent, and become a homeless guy on the street, will you still talk to me?” Jin mumbles, staring at the slow beams of light glow under the rising numbers.

Pi considers this for a fair amount of time. “You’d stay at my place, though,” he mumbles back like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Jin shakes his head dully. “I’m too expensive. I need in-floor heating and icy reasons to acquire more swag.”

“Swag…” Pi echoes like he isn’t a hundred percent on what that is. “You could be a chef…my chef,” he supplies finally.

Jin slides a little downward against the metal elevator wall. “Well, you’d never be home for me to cook for you--“

Pi’s dark serious eyes glint with annoyance. “I’d be home at night, though.”

“Yeah, at like three a.m.”

“So?! I’m hungry when I get home. Anyway, all you know how to make is pasta, so…

“Three a.m. pasta it is then, bitch-ass… ”

A considering silence crosses between them overborne by the hum of the elevator. Almost simultaneously, they smirk at each other. Chief had once accused them of sharing a brain. Jin thinks he doesn’t mind the company.

Yet, he thinks as Pi gets off on the sixth floor, even Pi wouldn’t be able to understand what had transpired the night before. Deep down, though, Jin knows that if he puts it to words—the reason he’s going to look for that man-- it won’t make as much sense to him either. Just _fuck_. Seriously

 

 

There are no records of Millennial arrests in the CI database. Jin keys in twice over and scans for any recent arrests and draws his advanced search to as far as a year ago. The names that come up are all familiar high-profile cases, solved by an interchange of Shige, Ueda and Koki no doubt.

Nakamaru’s brass monocle has a glare on it as he peers rather imperiously around the side of Jin’s cubicle. “And what, may I ask, will you be up to today?”

“Looking into an old case,” Jin mutters, staring darkly at the monitor.

“Excellent. Well, if I might suggest--“ Chief cuts off when Agent M shuffles past, bearing a box labelled ‘contraband’. “No no _no!_. I told the narcotics department to call in for my supervision before they hold an analysis!” He hops away, chasing after Massu. “A lit match thrown into a metal bucket of cannabis is no accident!”

Jin rests his head on his desk. One thing he tries to actually do here, he can’t even get done. It used to be formulaic. Crime equals catch criminal equals rinse and repeat, but now the looming presence of a renewed Governing family’s laws extricates the deeper, more raw active sense of what Jin knew his job would be by the books he once read. Jin never really cared about politics.

Jin sits up abruptly. _Right._ he thinks with some surprise. _Politics_. Millennial arrests wouldn’t even be in the database because records and a solid number of them put behind bars within the year alone would only give room for some bitter being out there to implicate the CI of some kind of profiling and subsequently the Governing bodies of prejudice. If he wanted answers, he’d have to go straight there and act like he knew things.

 

 

“An Interrogation?” The grumpy-looking smallish man at the front desk (Nishikido Ryo by his nametag) frowns a bit listlessly. “Like for an investigation?”

“Yeah,” Jin supplies promptly, leaning over the desk in a deliberately amiable stance. “Well, more for research actually. Our database doesn’t cover Millennia as you know so we want some of that info for trainees and stuff.”

“And you want to speak to one?”

“Anyone categorised as Millennial.”

Jin is gifted with a slightly laconic smile. “You know we call those Code 35 in public?”

“Of _course_.” Superiors didn’t call him innovative for nothing. At the moment, however, Jin can’t think of anything else to say. He nods and attempts to imitate an earnest expression a la Shige. A cross between being helplessly lame and being extremely frustrated about it.

Surprisingly Nishikido bursts out laughing. “Jeez, you’re a serious weirdo. Haha, OK whatever, I’ll call it in. Take the elevator to the eighth floor; the interrogation room is at the end. Someone’ll be there to meet you. You got lucky, man. Some freakshow was arrested just last week…”

 

 

For an operating correctional facility, the hallways are dead and noiseless. Just long pale, grey walls and iron doors. The beat of Jin’s boots on the hard beige linoleum is the only sound rocketing off the walls and near whisper drip of some tap distant. As Jin’s ears adjust to the silence, he recognises a very faint high-pitched buzzing, like a constant throbbing noise echoing down the halls practically in his head.

“Oh, hey there!” The cheery voice seems to come out of nowhere, fuzzy over a speaker, and it startles Jin nearly out of his skin. Jin turns at the voice to see the door marked “Interrogation” with a small taped up window, through which a pair of narrow dark eyes are fixed on him, crinkled at the corners to offset the direct stare. “Hey,” the man inside says again, a little softly. “You’re here to interrogate an inmate, right?”

Jin pauses. “Yeah. I…I’m from the CI HQ.”

“That’s great. I’m the Supervising Correctional Officer. Taguchi Junnosuke.” His tone is politician-esque affable. Ridiculously inviting.

Jin smiles hesitantly. “I was told to meet you up here…”

“Mm, I’ve been waiting for you.” He says swiftly, glancing away into the room. “Akanishi Jin, right?”

“Uh, yeah…” This is a weird one, that’s for sure. Who puts these loons in charge? Jin wonders, slipping his hands in his coat pockets.

“You can call me Junno.”

Jin chews his lip. “Can I come in?”

The eyes squint again with strangely out-of-place amusement. “Ah, right. Go ahead. Come on in. I’ll just…” he trails off, and the speaker shuts off.

Jin fidgets as he waits for the door to open. The pause becomes protracted and Jin rests his weight on his toes a little to look inside. In that instant, those eyes reappear, a little impatient looking but a ringing laughter bubbles through the speaker. “You gotta open the door, Agent-kun,” he says a little breathlessly.

Jin swallows the retort he’s dying to make and grabs the handle, yanking it down ‘til it clicks and the door expels a rush of steam as it slides open at a mechanical pace.

He kind of expects the sunshine, row of white teeth grin to go with that more-than-happy-to-see-you tone, but what he doesn’t expect is the height. Taguchi towers over him in a relaxed, lazy way, hands in the pockets of a lab coat, looking trim, but edgy. Jin finds himself a bit caught up in that daring, amused gaze, dark and shining like a sheen of something acidic swims over his irises. Three seconds of gazing at the dream in that smile, Jin catches a glimpse of a pair of the sharpest incisors he’s ever seen. Fangs. Practically horror movie-esque with the steam settling and all.

It takes a split second for it to occur to him that a correctional officer wouldn’t be wearing a lab coat.

Jin barely gets a chance to step in the room before Taguchi hops forward, large hands over Jin’s shoulders to steer him back out into the hallway. “They haven’t brought the convict in yet. He’s got to be handcuffed and accompanied; there’s been some kind of riot in the psychiatric wing so our correctional officers are a bit tied up. Let’s just kill some time until they bring your man, why don’t we?”

Taguchi says all this in a single wind of breath, sliding his arm to the small of Jin’s back, fingers curving into the fabric of Jin’s coat. Jin stumbles forward under Junno’s arm but allows himself to be led back down the hall. “A riot?” he echoes blankly.

“Yeah, one of those crazy ones jammed a penlid in another man’s eye,” is the verge of laughter reply Jin gets and there’s something about the conversational way that Taguchi reports this that sets Jin on edge.

It’s hurried and ridiculous, but Taguchi walks them all the way down, passing the elevator doors, to the fire escape, keeping a firm hold on Jin. He’s walking a little behind him, fingers still fisted in Jin’s coat, using his entire frame to haul Jin through the door and down the first flight.

“What are you—“ Jin starts, but his voice is caught off with the strike of his chest right against the cement wall and Taguchi presses one leg on the back of his right knee.

“So how is Kei-chan? Still alive, I hope?” The laughter in his voice is gone, all air right against Jin’s nape, a hot expulsion of breath as he whispers.

“Hold on,” Jin mutters, all the answers clicking together as he works it out. Like some kind of tool, he’d unlocked a door in a prison. And now…Jin presses his head, eyes shut, against the wall. “You’re…not a correctional officer…are you?”

“I’d appreciate it if you just cooperated,” Taguchi continues softly. “I have a very ‘act-first’ type of temper, you know. Keeps me from being angry for too long.”

“What?” Jin murmurs back. His mind is racing with quick, panicked assessments: badge-issue heel-activated blade in his boot, a locked pistol and a pair of cuffs clipped his belt; never used. The angle, his arm; he’s disabled. _Shit, shit, shit._ Stuff like that. He squirms a little to see how much lee-way to move he has, but Taguchi merely grabs him by the forearm and twists it back, expertly and swiftly.

“You didn’t answer my question, though. Kei-chan…” He says the name like there’s silver lacing his tone, a deep vibration of something cold at the same time as desperate.

“H-he’s fine.” Jin winces as Junno’s fist tightens on his arm. “My place; I let him stay there so I could come and see _you_.”

It’s weird how he can feel the smile on Junno’s mouth curl up. “Yes, that sounds like a plan, and the next element in that plan…Jin-kun, is how you’re going to help me out of here…”

Jin freezes. “Say what?” He makes a ditch effort to struggle out of Taguchi’s hold, but he makes very little progress. “I can’t…I’m not gonna break a criminal out of jail!”

That damn laughter. Even more stark when it’s not over the speaker, now it rings up and down the fire escape, reaching deep channels close to Jin’s nerve endings. “Then what brought you here?” he asks simply, the malicious grip he keeps on Jin’s tendons out-lying his matter-of-fact and curious tone.

He thinks about it; he knows the answer damn well. And it’s aggravating to think about, the tone in Taguchi’s voice when he says Koyama’s name _Kei-chan_ like something carnal and personal. And it makes sense. The taste, the heat, the feeling of Koyama, soft and so easy to strip bare, pliant and forever ready for what Jin is sure he only grazed the very surface of last night. He shuts his eyes.

Taguchi makes a quiet hum of amusement. “What’s the point in asking when it’s already written all over you? Akanishi-san isn’t a driven man until it comes to certain things…”

Jin swallows, feeling the sweat break out on him when Junno gets closer.

“Did you touch him?” Taguchi asks, still conversationally curious, not even a hint of any steel in his tone. He could be asking about the time for all it is.

Jin can’t even bring himself to reply. “Look, I’ll…look into your case. Get your record clean if Koyama is right about you not being a criminal.” He licks his lips nervously. “I can help you that way, but I can’t just…”

Taguchi’s hold on his arm loosens suddenly. Automatic and like a switchblade, Jin slips his arm back and kicks his left heel against Taguchi’s leg braced over his. The stumble is enough for him to gain leverage as he whirls, but he isn’t quick enough…or Junno is entirely too quick. Barely seeming to move, Taguchi cuffs Jin around the side of jaw and brings his other knuckles sharply and unhesitatingly into Jin’s gut. A sharp ram and the shock makes Jin yelp as he doubles up. Then he’s frozen, his back now to the wall, immobilized by Taguchi stepping right into his personal space, hips glance up against his, his legs spread, hands sliding down to his wrists, imprisoning him.

Jin thinks he might have let him. Kind of.

The fire escape stairwell is bathed in shadows. Jin, staring out at stone steps and silence, knows why Junno pulled him down here. Everything calculated from the instigated riot going on downstairs to the fact that no one would think a CI agent was dumb enough to be talked into opening a one-way door for an inmate. But Taguchi knew somehow. It kills Jin a little to think that might be why Junno sent Koyama after him.

“You’re so much fun, Jin-kun. I bet you like that kind of fun, don’t you?” The laughter, soft, is in his ear as Junno slides his wrists upward still against the wall, over his head. “I’m sure you thought Kei-chan would give you a good time.” The mere mention of Kei-chan wheels the memories back. The way he’d entrapped Jin with a firm hand on his jaw, how his mouth had been like a painted image of potential. Junno’s lips against his earlobe, petal softness but damp. “Well, I’ll tell you now. He would. Everything his kisses promise…like this—“ Junno pulls back, and with his mouth, graze of his teeth just along Jin’s chin, he slides up from jaw to the bottom of Jin’s lips, breaths practically soundless as he canters forward. Jin sucks in a breath when he’s branded by the friction immediately. “—the taste of his skin when he’s been teased for hours, it’s…well, it’s just _fantastic_ really.”

Jin tries not to make a sound, but it’s reaching the impossible with Taguchi being peculiarly aggressive. He shuts his eyes tight hoping it’ll make it feel less amazing, make it so he doesn’t react, but one of them rolls his hips forward, instant gorgeous slide of heat; fibrous mixture of the inside of his jeans and the unpredictable groove of Junno’s hardness, and judging by Junno’s surprised and shaking chuckle, it’s probably Jin himself. He’s just so hard and memories of a failed completion strike him and it just makes the ache even more horrible.

He realises Junno’s breathing just as heavily as he is; pain in Jin’s wrists from where Junno clutches zealously. He nuzzles over Jin’s collarbone and Jin writhes, unable to move an inch. “Ah, you’ve got his scent all over you,” Junno groans, and Jin catches the slur, practically drunken with want, reflection of the way his own body is shimmering with a wilful need.

Their mouths meet again and Jin is only half-aware of Taguchi letting go of his wrists to push at his coat, palms scraping along his shoulders over his thin shirt, the heavy thing drops to the ground and Jin threads his fingers into Junno’s lank dark hair, flicking his tongue against Junno’s in a visceral-fuelled tease. Belt, zipper, the graze of fingers exploring, searching for the heat of his cock, Jin rocks forward so he finds it, touches him with bare skin. He feels himself spring out, naked in Junno’s hot fist. He has to pull away to gasp, hiss while a palm skirts up his shaft in a deliberately light play of fingers.

“Fuck!” he moans, sliding upward, hiking himself up so the grip will tighten, encouraging in a language without words. Junno descends on his throat, tongue lapping up, sliding over the skin there, sucking to a near painful point all while he squeezes the hilt of Jin’s cock from beneath, back of his hand brushing Jin’s scrotum making the cascades of electricity sear up and down his legs. Jin shakes as he lets go of Junno’s hair and grabs for Junno’s waist band. As if the wordless communication is a digging part of both of them, Junno makes room for Jin to reach in, grab him, and his teeth sink down right in the groove of Jin’s shoulder. The sound Jin makes is new, caught between the pain and the earthy jump-start in his blood.

He feels Junno shift in his hand, rocking forward, opening his palm, only to close it around the both of them, pressed upward against Jin’s stomach. Jin follows, head thrown back against the wall, palm grazing over the wet bud of precome on the slit of his cock, gathering the moisture on Junno’s, slicking his fist as their hands pick up a rhythm.

Junno nibbles, sometimes sharp but always gasping into Jin’s neck with each squeeze downward. There’s no opening as Junno’s fist comes up from their hilts upward and Jin slides down, kicking his hips into it. Shielded by the shadows and the covering of Junno’s lab coat, they make a fluid undulation together punctuated by the shift of Junno’s grip and Jin’s aching gasp. Almost shameless in the way the sounds, unmistakeable echoes of skin against skin, float up the stairwell.

“F-fuck…” Jin hisses, his muscles at their limit, body tensed right up against Junno, other fingers curled into Junno’s collar as he bucks all the more desperately.

Junno, pressed against his neck, drops a hard wet kiss where Jin can still feel the sting of his earlier malicious bite and for some reason that sets him off, and it’s a perfect finally in the way he Jin goes blind for moments, losing himself in the sheer relief of it, clutching Junno with their bodies still grinding in an off-kilter tandem. For the slightest moment, he thinks the ringing alarm is going off in his head, but it intensifies as Jin comes down and Taguchi slumps against him with a low release and a shudder. It feels like his entire body weight rests on Jin’s chest and the deafening, high-pitched buzzing is all the more ear-killing in the echoing acoustics of the fire escape stairwell.

“What the fuck is that?” Jin demands, leaning away from Junno who takes his time in straightening up.

“That…” Junno’s breathless smile returns, fangs and all, as he reaches out to gently adjust Jin’s pants, yanking the zipper up briskly. “ _That_ would be Psychoanalyst Officer Yoko coming out of a very painful mini-coma, having realised far too late that I’ve broken my handcuffs and used his head to… bend my chair… _and_ borrowed his lab coat… now probably angrily… sounding a Code 18. Criminally insane prisoner breakout…”

Jin gapes a little. His mind races with immediate queries a bit fogged by the ringing. Primary question: did he just get off with a mental patient? Considering the circumstance of priority has always been Jin’s forte. “ _Criminally insane_?!”

Junno leans forward and offers a soft peck, surprisingly affectionate considering that Jin’s shoulder still stings. “Only by popular opinion. The way I see it, I drive … _others_ insane.”

“Umm, what?” It looks like he’s telling a joke, but Jin can’t be sure. Junno’s smile turns his eyes to crescents, unreadable, kind of friendly; very creepy.

There’s a large heavy thudding noise from a floor above followed by a mechanical screech and cement dislodging. Jin has to brace himself against the wall again. “And that,” Junno goes on with a smug look that just looks mildly irritating. “ _That_ is the sound of the officers downstairs realising that the elevator has malfunctioned for who knows how long really. Security at the front desk will come looking for _you_ here and—“ He reaches down and hands Jin his coat. “--- here, he will find you. You’ll explain that the elevator wasn’t working so you chose to take the stairs. You’ll be escorted out and I will meet you in front.”

“W-wait what?” Jin grabs his arm. “Do you think I’m going to go along with this? I’m a highly trained civil agent, you idiot!”

Junno’s smile is unflappable. “Yes, a highly trained civil agent with a shitty evaluation ready to be added to his record. Good old Chief Nakamaru-san isn’t going to look the other way when you’ve lied your way into a correctional facility, unleashed a potentially threatening convict on the public, but not before having your wicked way with him in the corner of a stairwell. I will of course offer a rivetingly accurate testimonial.”

Jin forgets what air is for a slow second.

Delusion or whatever must’ve made Taguchi look a bit sympathetic just then even as his smile only increases its wattage. “Ah, we have five minutes before that reality comes to being. You’ve got another option, though, Jin-kun. Imagine, a few days from now, solving a case you didn’t even know existed, ending a circle of horrible murders that haven’t been reported yet, and returning this penitentiary’s most threatening criminal back behind bars. Like a fairy tale, eh? Jinderella…”

As Taguchi chortles away, Jin slides to the floor in mortification. He’s been utterly manipulated and with frightening ease. If he doesn’t go along with the smiling mental patient, his career is over. He’ll be homeless. He’ll have to cook for Yamapi at three a.m. every day. He could cry.

“So, you know, I’ll see you in front in twenty minutes.” Taguchi winks like he’s just set up a hot date. The shadows seem to swallow him as he backs away, skipping a little in a very limber bound up the stairs to the ninth floor. As an afterthought, he turns, long limbs poised for what could be a preternatural lift-off. “Don’t be late, Jin-kun…I’ll be very sad.”

Jin watches him disappear and is startled when at that exact moment he catches the sound of hammering steps coming from below. He leaps up from his spot and leans over the banister to see Nishikido racing up toward him, two steps at a time.

There’s dried semen on his trousers and a very suspicious stain on his shirt. Jin dithers for a moment before he realises that he’s holding his coat. Slipping it on, he’s only just zipping it up to his neck when Nishikido hits his flight and spots him.

Jin freezes and tries not to look guilty. He’s still out of breath and he smiles a bit shakily. “These stairs, man…” he gasps.

Nishikido looks relieved. “The elevator’s…”

“Broken, yeah…” He says it too quickly. He’s turning into Agent K off the Xanax. Dammit. Facial tics aren’t sexy. “I took the stairs.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Nishikido replies. “Well, the bastard you came to see used our camera’s blindspots to escape; we think he took the elevator and shut it down so you’d have to take the stairs. Eight fucking floors…”

“Bastard,” Jin echoes stiffly.

“Exactly,” Nishikido frowns all default style. “Well, we gotta go back down and clear all passages for search. He’s gotta still be in the building since you need a police badge to get out. There’ll be marshals swarming all over these stairs so we want to get down there and hopefully intercept him before he gets to the door.”

It’s only when they get downstairs and find the front room empty and the doors wide open that Jin, hands in his pockets, realises that his badge is missing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The usually unenthused Agent Akanishi Jin of the Gold Galaxy’s Civil Investigations Unit finds himself tied up (in more ways than one) after a heated encounter with an especially attractive life form. Criminally insane masterminds aside, Jin just wants a sparkling evaluation this term.

 

Twenty minutes later, on the dot, Jin walks woodenly out of the front gates, shoulders coming in against the now warm, choking mists of the evening coming.

A hug from behind, long, muscled arms close around his shoulders once he turns the corner. “Mmm, Jin~” Junno croons, against the back of his neck, nose brushing his nape in an abruptly thrilling way. “I knew you’d come through for us.”

“You’re gonna get me in so much shit,” Jin mumbles, thinking of how disappointed Nakamaru’s going to look. Jin had banked on at least being on Chief’s good side. Now…

As Jin sets off at a brisk, unhappy walk, Junno lets him go and sidesteps forward until he’s walking backward in front of Jin. Somewhere between the time they’d parted and now, Junno had discarded his lab coat and now sported a blue set of janitor coveralls. “I’m your saving grace, Jin-kun. I picked you because you _needed_ saving.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jin snaps, looking around to make sure no one is watching them too closely. “How did you know your plan would work out? The elevator malfunctioning, me showing up…that I would even listen to you? You even mentioned my direct superior’s name! How long have you been watching me?”

“I’m a very computer-friendly person,” Junno returns simply.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that there isn’t a detail or a pattern to mankind that I cannot access because he is embedded in the cyber world. My world. There is no record I can’t read through and no path that isn’t mine to take. Consider me the candlelight of opportunity, setting fire to your mundane life.”

The streets are empty when the weather gets like this. No one likes to breath in the early evening mists. Jin is walking side by side with a madman, his lungs not taking in enough air.

“After all,” Junno continues, feet kicking up with something like restless energy. “I set you alight in that fire escape; delicious, really, the way you burn in my hands. A fire in a fire escape and I escaped right out the fire of justice.” His laughter is a bit excitable, gasping laughs tumbling over each other in a strange freedom of self-awareness. “I am a fire escapee!”

“No, you are insane,” Jin affirms. “What next? If supposedly helping you keeps me out of trouble, you better come through…and give me back my badge!”

Junno hands it to him then proceeds to unbutton his coveralls, baring the t-shirt underneath, in a slightly juvenile gesture of restlessness. His eyes center on Jin, beaming down at him in a sweltering way. “Take me to Kei-chan,” he says, laughter vanishing too quickly from his voice.

 

 

Though Jin has a lot of misgivings about bringing Junno into his apartment building, he refuses to let it show. Junno strides behind him confidently more resembling a shadow than an escaped convict. His dark hair makes his skin look stark in the shadows of Jin’s crummy apartment hallways, and Jin tries not to sneak glances at him. Good-looking as the freak is, he makes Jin break into a cold sweat.

Jin winds up letting the door slam back on its hinges as he gapes at his apartment in shock. Spotless, floor to ceiling polished and wiped down, clothes folded, magazines, movies and novels all stacked neatly. Even his piled up pillows and blankets from the night before have been folded and there’s a high concentration of a soap-like scent.

“What’s wrong?” Junno says sharply.

“He…cleaned.”

“Kei-chan knows messiness makes me unhappy,” is the cool reply. Taguchi brushes past him through the front hall to the main room, the floor of which Jin can see so much of. He follows a little slowly, unsure suddenly whether or not this is actually his apartment. He recognises his things, but…

“I was only gone four hours though,” he mutters, staring suspiciously at his white-paneled stove. “That was not white…even when I moved in.”

Junno looks suddenly fretful as he scans the room and Jin is alarmed at how young that makes him look. Jin glances at his bedroom where he’s sure Koyama must be, but he hesitates to take the step forward before Junno practically jumps for the room. Jin hangs back. Something about the expression, like he can see the jumpstart of Junno’s heartbeat.

He could be encroaching on a funeral from the pace that he follows.

Jin’s eyes fall to Koyama on the bed from the moment he enters. Lying there, motionless, a perfect caricature of exhaustion.

“He passed out,” Junno states to the room in general.

Koyama is curled up, pillows crowded about him in what seems like a shield. Vulnerable in the way that he seems unguarded from the accusation in his scars, now shining welts, some raw and red, some flaked with black; signs that he’s been bleeding again. His rusty, burnished orange hair is tousled, crushed up against the sheets beneath him. Jin’s chest tightens and he looks at Junno, standing over Koyama, head bowed so his lank, black hair shields his expression, just standing like a man might approach an altar, facing the familiarly sacrosanct.

“I’ll need something sharp, a razor,” Junno says, tone low.

“What…happened to him?” The question jumps out of him before he can think and he regrets it the moment Junno’s dark, irisless eyes glitter malevolently down at him.

He doesn’t snap; his tone remains neutral. “Boil some water, put it in a bowl and bring me a razor with it.”

“A-all right,” he says, surprised at how his own voice comes out in a faint whisper.

When he returns, Junno is bent over the bed and Jin, resting his stick razor and the bowl of hot water on the nightstand, stares when Junno straddles Koyama’s sleeping form. Junno reaches out to the stick razor and snaps the head of it off with his thumb. “I was hoping you’d have just a razor on its own… but this’ll do.” Bracing his thighs against Koyama’s hips, he fiddles with the razor head for a moment before there is another snap and he tips the pieces of blue plastic in his palm onto the nightstand, leaving the slivers of metal blade. “Bowl,” he orders and Jin picks it up and holds it as Junno drops the blades in the steaming water.

Frankly, Jin feels like he’s taking part in some ceremony, holding the bowl forward with Junno, sleek and muscular, poised all statuesque over Koyama’s lanky, hard, delicate frame.

“Kei-chan,” Junno whispers, brushing his fingers over Koyama’s forehead, the tenderest of gestures Jin’s seen him manage thus far. “Kei-chan, wake up.”

And after a slow, pregnant moment Koyama’s eyes slide open, a distant, leftover dream in his gaze. “Junno,” he murmurs automatically, reverently, voice rich and deep, but clouded from sleep. “You did it.”

“ _You_ did it,” Junno corrects, smile recreated as he makes a beckoning gesture at Jin who offers the bowl again.

Koyama tries to sit up, seemingly unperturbed by Junno’s predatory position over him. It certainly makes Jin uncomfortable, who keeps trying to decide whether the polite thing to do would be to avert his eyes. “We have to get back to—“

Junno presses him back into the mattress wordlessly, other hand dipping into the bowl in Jin’s hand, unearthing one of the single tiny blades. Koyama sees it and while Jin would’ve flipped his shit right then and there, Koyama only nods and writhes a bit as he struggles out of Jin’s t-shirt.

All it takes is Junno running the blade up Koyama’s forearm in a steady, shallow, unwavering line and Koyama making a sound so deep and yearning for Jin to nearly drop the bowl. The blood blooms, dark fluid like Junno painted him with it, beads up, shining on Koyama’s golden skin. Junno cradles his arm, bringing it up and without hesitation, flicks his tongue along the wound.

“Ah!” Koyama winces softly, knees coming up under Junno.

“As always, Kei-chan, you taste so sweet,” Junno sighs. Even if Jin wanted to look away, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to. He watches pretty much awestruck as Junno presses his mouth to the now dripping wound, crushing the droplets with his lips. Black ink-stained pink satin. “Not like the others.”

It’s sort of beautiful.

“What do the others taste like?” Koyama queries, amusement curling up the corners of those kissable lips.

“They taste like _iron_ y,” he says with a spreading grin. Koyama flings his other arm over his eyes as he laughs, drum-like stomach flexing with each gasp.

Junno must be on the same wavelength as Jin, he’s certain, from the way Junno leans down right then, bringing his thighs back to stretch up and kiss Koyama, practically devouring him from the mouth. Lips open, greedily sucking, he nips at those lips until they’re a deeper pink, swollen and abused.

It occurs to Jin that this is somehow hotter than most of the porn he’s watched. And they’re not even doing anything much.

Koyama stretches under Junno, as if trying to align his frame perfectly, hips shifting so it bares the narrow curving bone of his pelvis flexing under Junno’s thigh. His eyes flutter shut as Junno opens his mouth against the long slit of open skin, his tongue dark as it presses flat over Koyama’s pale wrist. The sounds they make--purring, soft sighs and groans-- crystallize Jin in place.

Junno casts Jin a glance as he drops the blade back into the bowl wordlessly. Of course, this is a show, a performance ranging from the moment Jin first laid eyes on him. Some part of Jin would be more than willing to believe that even Koyama, shaking and blood-stained, had been part of the pre-show.

For the first wound on the right end of Koyama’s rib cage, Junno leans down and with a shaking hot breath his tongue glides over it, leaving a glimmering sheen and Jin can only gaze in open-mouthed audience as he repeats this again and again. It’s not the act that has Jin frozen anymore—no—it’s the way that Koyama’s creamy skin seals under Junno’s tongue, a remainder of only pale scar tissue. Koyama only curves himself back on the mattress; arching and writhing, his long, bare legs interchangeably stretching over the sheets with heels digging and stretching the fabric. He sucks in his lower lip as Junno goes lower, dragging the waistband of his shorts down, licking over the bruises on his upper thigh.

“Your turn,” Junno says, lips still pressed to that strip of skin. For a wild, sick moment, Jin is convinced that Junno’s talking to him, but Koyama nods and shifts when Junno sits back on his heels, so Koyama can reach for the proffered bowl of water.

Jin wasn’t aware that it was actually possible for someone to look that apologetic while running a deep slicing stripe down someone else’s chest, but Jin’s train of thought immediately halts at the bright gleam of red that bursts over Junno’s right pectoral, sliding in thick crimson streams from the cut. Not inky; not black like Koyama’s.

“You’re… _human_!?” Jin exclaims, and both heads swivel over at him in surprise.

“…Yes,” Junno replies, nonplussed by this assessment.

“But you have fangs!” Jin sets the bowl down finally. “Plus…. you just _licked_ his wounds shut.”

“Yes, there is that,” Junno returns humbly. He glances at Koyama for a quick moment a bit smugly. “Gorgeous, they called me, but not a _lick_ of remorse for it.”

Infuriatingly enough, Koyama only shoots him an exasperated look before parting his lips right over the streams, tongue darting, sliding upward, mouth closing over it as he braces his long, pale arms around Junno’s torso, palms coming around his back, soon silent but for the steady, soft sucking sounds.

“How much do you know about Millennial blood?” Junno states curiously, leaning casually back as Koyama’s hold on him grows tighter, that low hungry sound coming from deep in Koyama’s throat. “About how it differs from human blood?”

Jin finally averts his eyes; he keeps imagining himself coming to kneel on the bed behind Koyama to lick his own pattern of trails up that golden brown angular back. “Umm, nothing really. I just know one is black, the other is red.”

“So I figured,” says Junno, resting on the heels of his hands, legs bent backward over the sheets as Koyama clings tighter, only stopping to breathe at intervals. “Have you ever been presente—ouch!-- presented with the possibility that one species could increase the life expectancy of another?”

“No,” Jin says slowly, eyebrows coming together. “Is…that what’s happened to you?”

Koyama pulls back from Junno, mouth dark red, eyes shut; the image of satiation. Junno quickly brushes his fingers through the damp hair near Koyama’s nape distractedly. “A lot’s happened to me,” he says quietly.

 

 

 

“Did you know Millennial blood carries a hormone that triggers the hypothalamus and the frontal lobe heightening both stamina, alertness, and a rejection of negative glucoses? The haemoglobins appear to be compatible with the circulatory systems of basically any blood type, however it is only with the current evolved hominid species that injection into our bloodstream can there be seen such huge advancements in evolution.”

Jin is abruptly surprised at the rate at which his eyes can glaze over. They’re in his living room having left Koyama to sleep it off. Junno is stretched out on Jin’s loveseat (where Jin had been sitting previously until of course Junno rested his head on Jin’s lap which took them both to an awkward place that Jin wasn’t all that ready to normalise). Jin had slipped down, now cross-legged on the floor as Junno started to prattle.

“I’m not a hundred percent on what you just tried to explain to me,” he grumbles.

Junno doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. “Think of it as the most ideal and direct energy drink for your blood stream. Except the effect is more permanent the longer you inject their blood and after enough of it…well, then you turn out like me.” He grins, brown lashes casting down a bit flatteringly, almost narcissistic the careful way he tilts his head so Jin sees him from that angle, usually intense dark eyes softened and vulnerable.

“You mean insane?” Jin dead-pans.

Junno punctuates this statement with a speal of abrupt raucous laughter. “You’re hilarious,” he practically croons. “But no, I mean capable of giving back to the Millennia now that my DNA is a bit different, now that what pumps through my veins is something far more alive than what goes through yours.”

“Then you’re not human,” Jin concludes. “I mean, you can’t be. You say yourself that what’s in your blood isn’t the same.”

Junno shrugs. “How much heroin can a man keep in his bloodstream before we stop calling him human?”

“Heroin doesn’t turn people’s saliva into Polysporin!”

Junno’s lips purse musingly before he goes on. “ _Anyway_ , I happened to be one of the first discoverers of the improvement to a person’s livelihood once they begin drinking and injecting alien blood.”

“You were experimenting with people’s blood…”

Junno’s grin contradicts the predatory look he gives Jin just then. “You of all people should have noticed I have a thing for biting.”

Jin shudders. He tries not to think how it feels like a good type of shudder.

“I just happened to have bitten the right _sort_ of person when I was young.” Junno falls into a musing pause and for a short second their eyes meet, and the blazing look there is dead serious and deliberately intense.

Jin has never quite understood the concept of tangible chemistry, and it’s nothing like he imagined it would be. This is borderline gut-wrenching and it doesn’t help that the taste of Junno’s mouth still lingers. It bothers Jin a great deal because he’s absolutely certain if he had met someone like Junno in school or at work, he’d have kicked his ass on a daily basis. On principle even. Whatever Junno senses from this still moment of Jin looking at him and wishing he weren’t, he doesn’t make it known as his gaze flickers away.

“Jin-kun,” he continues, “I want you to know that I may not have done anything criminal, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I haven’t done things I regret. I am _dependent_ on the taste of their blood, having it in me…I may have agreed to do things for it that no man can be proud of doing. One of these big mistakes was introducing my way of life to the Governing Premier’s son, a friend, because I knew he had contact with larger clans of Millennia, could introduce me... they trusted him and he had seen how the blood changed me, how…it had begun to change him as well.”

“The Governing Premier’s _son_?” Jin echoes. “You’re telling me the Governing Premier’s son is currently just like you?!”

“If by just like me you mean, resembling a creature very inhumane, then I would say he surpasses me in that effort. Yuya was different; he had power. He…hoarded the blood, began to sell it, turned it into a black market _commodity_ , built labs and prisons, killing hundreds of Millennia within a year alone. The knowledge of the blood is steadily becoming a widespread thing…” That blazing look again and it fill the room with its sheer palpable fury.

Jin sits back, palms against the carpet behind him, a bit disarmed. “So, is that how you wound up arrested? For trying to stop him?”

Junno glances at the bedroom door a little inadvertently, chewing his lip pensively. “I didn’t try to stop him because I didn’t care, really, until I met Kei-chan, strapped up and hooked to over thirty needles just steadily draining him. Yuya’s pet project. I can’t really even describe—he never said a word to me… but just something about him...”

“I know,” Jin says without thinking. “I mean, I get it.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how anyone could _ever_ …” Junno pauses, examining his fingernails, attempting to look casual, but something in his voice trembles significantly. “… _ever_ want to hurt someone like Kei-chan. I set him free the very day I met him. I’ve never made Yuya angrier.” The glow of amusement sets his expression alight again, speaking from a fond memory. “The way he reacted that day, as if I’d taken something from him personally…like he was so attached to this horrible effort to kill Kei-chan slowly. It just…I knew I had to do something. So I went looking for someone like you.” An almost cat-like grin accompanies this statement.

Jin bristles. “What is that supposed to mean ‘like me’?”

“Akanishi Jin, according to your evaluation last term you were considered the most politically incorrect agent in the CI unit. This society is imprisoned by its politics; public blackout is the governing family’s primary method of keeping the peace. I knew Yuya couldn’t kill me so there’s no doubt he’d take another route to disable me. He had me implicated in attempting to murder him. So silly…”

“So…because I’m immune to politics—“

“No, no one is immune, I don’t think,” Junno cuts in contemplatively. “Even you were properly trained not to cause controversy by alerting your superiors about Kei-chan. Others with an agenda would have absolutely nothing to do with us because it’s a case having to do with the Millennia. Plus I… intend to _kill_ the Governing Premier’s Son.”

Jin’s legs come uncrossed and he gets up slowly; he’s not sure, but those words make it all seem more real and present than it seemed just a few seconds ago. “Wait a minute. What do you mean you’re gonna kill him? You can’t! That’s like…. _dude_ , that’s an automatic death sentence.”

“I’m already on deathrow for being accused of an attempt alone! I’m now an escaped convict and the longer those agents up in your department look for me, the closer they’ll get to you and Kei-chan! I’ve given it as much thought as I can and there’s not even a way to get the physical evidence to have Yuya put away. So all I need you to do is arrest me when I’m all done, and--”

Jin is standing. “No, no, wait a minute! You mentioned labs earlier. Just yesterday someone in my department uncovered a lab with Millennial remains. They’re looking into it, trying to find a lead…” He begins pacing before he realises it, thinking hard. “They have pictures, a location, and physical evidence…I can at least get a lead on someone connected to the Governing family.”

Junno watches him silently, the off-putting blackness of his eyes remind Jin of droplets of Kei-chan’s blood. “That isn’t a guarantee, you know.”

“Please just wait a little bit.”

“Wait?” Junno echoes, sitting up.

“Yeah. I can fix this, the right way and nobody has to die. Just leave it me, all right.”

An exasperated head-shake. “Jin-kun…”

Jin licks his lips a bit fretfully. “ _Please_ , just…wait til tomorrow evening when I get back from work. I’ll have something worked out.”

Junno rests his hands on his knees, looking impatient. “I had intended to have this done by tonight. I’ve spent months on this plan and—“

It’s three steps to get to the couch, to put his hands on Junno’s chest, to halt his words at the abrupt contact. Jin shuts his eyes and grazes his fingers downward, meeting Junno’s hands coming up to brace himself, to accept Jin so easily, so happily without fear or shame, as if expecting it suddenly. Jin’s hips settle comfortably on Junno’s lap because Junno sits back and purposefully spreads his thighs so Jin can balance on him, tuck his knees in the seat of the couch. “Jin,” he says, so laughingly pleased, practically swimming in delight. Jin closes his fingers around Junno’s wrist and opens his eyes again, smiling a little.

“Taguchi-san~” he sighs a bit thickly, not quite meeting Junno’s eyes. This is kind of an embarrassing thing to do.

“Mm?” Junno queries comfortably, playfully, letting Jin guide his hands up by the wrists.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he whispers. The cuff clicks when he locks it in place, still sharply effective despite his never having to use them. Junno’s eyes widen when Jin very quickly (fastest in the academy, baby!) attaches the other cuff to the heater pipe over the arm of his sofa. “These are made of osmium alloy. You’re not breaking out of _these_.”

The sound of Junno’s outraged growls and the empty, fruitless clank of metal as he yanks vehemently against his cuffs and the open pipe are Jin’s round of applause as he heads for his bath.

 

 

When Jin sets off for work the next morning (the self-proclaimed criminal mastermind still handcuffed to his steampipe heater), he expects to go into HQ, “borrow” the case file from Shige, and look into implicating at least a few names attached loosely to the governing premier’s son, get a deal with the higher-ups for Junno’s release or at least get him a trial for a lighter sentence. The thought of that gangly, laughing, random, _emotional_ being on deathrow kind of does things to Jin’s stomach that he isn’t sure wouldn’t sound sappy coming out of his mouth.

However, his plan goes askew the moment he steps into the elevator and Yamapi is there as usual. His blank, serious eyes look even more serious than Jin thought possible.

“What’s…wrong?”

Pi hikes his work bag higher on his shoulder, tense energy swarming around him. “There was apparently a breakout of a public enemy at the St. John’s Penitentiary yesterday and someone from the Governing family is here to discuss public blackout on the situation. As P.R. head, this will be my first time in a meeting with anyone in government.”

Jin swallows. _Well, fuck_. “Where…are you meeting with them?”

“In Chief’s office in about ten minutes,” Pi replies stiffly. “But I hear the Governing Premier’s son always comes early. Fuck, Jin, those people are _scary_!”

They pass the sixth floor, three floors to Jin’s department. Jin’s chest is hammering with his own heartbeat. _Think, think!_ “Pi, you’re my best friend, right?”

Pi shoots him a grimace. “What did you do? And why at a time like this, dude?”

“I didn’t do _anything_ …yet. But there’s something important I need to do in Chief’s office for like ten minutes…umm, maybe fifteen, and I need you to keep the old man out of there.”

Pi’s eyebrows cast downward. “You’re killing me, bro…”

Jin watches the numbers light up as they get closer to his floor. “He was upset with the narcotics department yesterday for trying to hold an analysis in the office. Tell him they’ve got…umm, heroin and that you….overheard Koki talking about shooting up just the once.”

Pi appears to think that one’s hilarious. His tense expression melts into a grin. “Oh, he’ll be so _pissed_!”

“His nostrils will flare and stuff.”

Pi runs his hands through his hair quickly, psyching himself up. “This better be worth it, man.”

“Always is,” Jin says, trying to breathe deeply.

The elevator doors rumble open and Pi steps out ahead of Jin. Jin scans the department office quickly, agents milling here and there, copy machines whirring, quiet chatter, and Shige in his cubicle reading over his case file. Chief’s office door is closed, but Jin sees through the blinds, a light brown wavy-haired head seated in a chair in front of Chief’s desk. And Superior Chief himself, coming out of the adjacent unit, looking harried, not wearing his monocle; he definitely hasn’t met with the Governing Premier’s son yet.

“Ok, buddy, it’s all you. Ten minutes or more if you can,” Jin mutters before executing a deeply meaningful fist bump. Pi stalks toward Nakamaru without a word, his back tense with energy and intent.

 

 

When he steps into the office, he makes certain to shut and lock the door with a very stern snap. The man turns in his chair; he’s quite smallish and his features appear almost carved and careful, cupid’s bow pink lips, bright, starry, boy-idol eyes. Jin hates him on sight.

“You must be the Superior Chief…Nakamaru?” He has a ringing little posh tone about him. He doesn’t rise from his seat, one leg crossed over the other all elegantly.

“Yeah,” Jin returns gruffly.

“Tegoshi Yuya,” he offers back in a succinct little ringing tone.

Jin is aware that he has ten minutes, perhaps less, to set things right. He rounds the desk and sits in Nakamaru’s large orthopaedic chair. It’s only upon sitting that he spots the monocle perched on a small shelf underneath. Basic on undercover is to look the part. Inadvertently, he plucks it up and sets it neatly over his eye, taking care to glare through it at the little man in the chair opposite. It doesn’t have a laser pointer.

Pale, polite smile. “You mentioned to my secretary that we’d discuss with P.R. about putting this on public blackout?” He makes a vague, irritatingly subtle show of looking around. “Where is your rep?”

Jin folds his hands over the desk. He makes a steeple. “He’s not coming, sir.”

Tegoshi blinks long lashes innocently. “I’m sorry?” Others must find him so dazzling. Jin just finds himself mildly grossed out.

“I planned to call your…um, offices, but since you were coming anyway, I decided not to. I’d just as well talk to you in private, here.”

“What is it?”

“To be honest, sir. We already got the criminal in question early this morning.”

Arched, very faint impressions of golden-coloured eyebrows curve upward in a delicate expression of relief. “Ah, so you’ve got him. That, I’ll admit, comes as a relief to me.”

“I guessed that it would,” Jin continues, “Issue is, sir. Your life is still in danger.”

It strikes Jin that what bothers him most about this little inbreed is the fact that each expression he makes is like an imitation of one, as if he can’t be assed to even move his sparkly features to _emote_ genuinely. At present, Tegoshi is trying to look alarmed.

“That’s right,” Jin goes on, “and don’t get me wrong; it’s not ‘cause he’s on the loose anymore, but it’s because he’s begun talking about the _reason_ he knew you personally.”

The imitation stops. Jin is looking at a marble expression, hard eyes of steel. “Well,” comes the delicate reply. “That’s ridiculous. Criminals would say anything to persuade the governing bodies out of a heavy sentence. If I were you, Superior Chief, I’d order for a tidy and quick execution.”

“Well, you see, I can’t do that, sir. Because his story matches right up with a great big _lab_ full of evidence that says you’ve been up to some pretty nasty junk these past two years.”

The steel is perhaps harsher, more manic than the glaze of acidic on Junno’s eyes. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Imagine this situation,” Jin sighs, adjusting the monocle so it appears to scan for several things on Tegoshi’s stupid face. “I send up the file of incontrovertible evidence I have on you; it passes through about ninety different pairs of eyes until it reaches the Governing Premier. By that time, covering for it will seem very suspect. We arrest you, there is public outcry, your father will hate you and make a public example of you by ordering the execution himself.”

“The governing family would never _allow_ \--“

“Or _another_ situation, an even worse one.” Jin is gesturing wildly at this point. “You walk out of here, a hundred percent confident that the Premier will cover your sorry ass, and you go on killing hundreds of innocent people! Now, the criminal we’ve apprehended, according to the evidence I carry of his not being a criminal, is now pretty fucking peeved at you. He’s already been claiming that he’s more than willing to commit the murder for which he has been wrongfully accused. You _know_ this man and even if you didn’t, you must’ve seen him. Give him one day and you’re dead.”

“Is that a _threat_ , Nakamaru-san?!”

Jin leans back in his chair, shaking his head. Smug never tasted this good. “Nope, but it is a chance for you to do the right thing. I don’t really know how much politics mean to you, but if we want to do this cleanly without anymore death or without anyone’s daddy hating them, I have a few suggestions. You shut down those labs, free the remaining victims, withdraw your charges against the man who will equally withdraw from wanting to snap your neck in two, and we’ll both walk away from this as if it never happened.”

Tegoshi, previously having been keeping control of his features, can’t seem to help his lip curling, baring a tiny pair of fangs at Jin. “You…” he hisses.

“As. If. It. Never. Happened,” Jin reiterates emphatically.

A deep breath, smallish hands curling into the arms of the chair. “Fine, and if I agree to this, you will destroy the file and guarantee my safety from that-that traitorous--- you will keep him away from me.”

“As far as Taguchi’s concerned, he’ll have nothing to do with you as long as you’re not hurting anyone. But the file stays with me _in tact_ if only to keep tabs on how you’re doing as our future leader.”

Tegoshi rises from his seat, looking very terrible and pale.

Jin raises his hands in mock surrender. “I just don’t want you to forget our little agreement here.”

The silence that steps into the room is cold. A menacing stone-like pressure as Jin doesn’t break eye contact and Tegoshi’s eyes burn with shaking outrage.

“All right!” he spits finally. “I’ll sign a pardon for Taguchi. Lock that file up and I’ll…” A deep shuddering, controlled breath. “I’ll dissolve the operation and destroy the laboratories.”

“Good, good,” Jin says promptly looking at the clock, only six minutes. Damn, that’s boss. He pushes his chair back and opens the top drawer of Nakamaru’s desk where predictably there is a tablet of paper. Jin shoves the paper and a pen across the desk at Tegoshi, who glares at him, undiluted hatred dripping from his gaze.

Jin oversees the writing of it, reading it word for word as Tegoshi scrawls over the page impatiently. He even writes like someone Jin would hate. But the statement is brisk and clear and Tegoshi uses his ring, pulls off the golden top of it and presses it down on the page next to his signature, marking the white paper with a dark ink seal. He passes the page back, laying the pen down, now quite red and shaking with his effort not to explode.

“Thanks,” Jin says quietly. “Now fuck off.”

 

 

By the time Nakamaru comes stomping out of the narcotics unit, nostrils a-flare as promised, Jin is at his cubicle desk, feet kicked up, playing Bejeweled on his computer. Jin jumps up when he sees him and peeks over his cubicle wall. Chief steps into his office and after a slow scan of the room he steps back out. “Does anyone—“ he starts, but Jin waves him over a bit more enthusiastically than he normally would.

Nakamaru looks at him oddly as he approaches, a deeply judging look. “What is it; make it quick.”

“The Governing Premier’s son said he had another appointment today so he left this with me and told me to give it to you. It’s a pardon for that criminal that escaped yesterday.”

Nakamaru’s eyebrows shift together. “What?” He unfolds the page and scans it, seemingly spots the seal. He sighs. “Right, well, governing family knows best, apparently,” he mutters bitterly before folding the paper again.

Jin knows he looks innocent despite the fact that he feels a bit uncomfortable with the long look Chief fixes him with. Everything just went better than expected and even his looming evaluation has nothing on the cloud nine he sits on currently.

“Agent A…” Chief says, tone tired and exasperated. “ _Why_ are you wearing my monocle.”

 _Ah, shit_.

“Forget it, just give it back and go find yourself a case to work on. I want to see progress this week, got it?”

Jin shakily hands back the brass piece, trying not to look too unremorseful. And adopts this same expression until Chief shuffles into his office and shuts the door behind him.

 

 

His evaluation still on the rocks, Jin can’t risk going home early; he keeps calling his landline but there’s no answer, which given previous circumstance, makes sense. It is probably his longest day at work so far and as usual, watching the clock only makes it even harder.

When five hits, though, Jin is already at the door and he doesn’t think he’s ever managed to get to the first floor that fast, having never bothered with the stairs before in his life.

And he can’t get up his apartment stairs fast enough.

When Jin stops dead as he crosses his entrance hall, it isn’t what he sees; it’s what he doesn’t see. The sofa is empty and the pipe heater is bare of any trace of his handcuffs. Jin can already feel it, gripping him in his middle, the reality of how dumb he’d have to be to not realise…

His hands curl against his own sofa upholstery as he blinks a little wetly. The blink doesn’t keep him from missing the movement of shadows to his right.

The bedroom.

It’s sickly, the swooping relief that burns up his spine and makes his knees weak while he approaches the partly ajar door. Koyama, alone, asleep on the bed, just shifting, probably waking up from all the noise he made coming in.

“Kei-chan, did you—“ His voice dies in his throat, drying with everything else as he’s rendered speechless and halted in his tracks once more.

Kei-chan, alone on the bed indeed, but naked with his long frame stretched out, one slender leg crooked over another arm. His fingers are slick with oil, mouth slack and open with moans quavering into the hot air of Jin’s bedroom. The wrist of Kei-chan’s right hand flexes with his purposeful strokes, fingers disappearing inside himself in just these slow, calculated dives of his index finger and middle. Jin can’t even swallow as he watches how Kei-chan’s golden brown skin, moist with the effort of his preparation, looks so delectable in the faint light coming in around Jin.

His other leg casts over the side of the bed and Jin is given a pure and unshadowed view of Koyama stretching himself, sliding in and parting his fingers at the knuckle. With a caught, desperate moan, he hikes himself upward into his own reaching touch. His slick rim seems to mould to the shape of his own strong, thick fingers, but what keeps Jin’s gaze is the way Kei-chan is positioned, head propped on the pillows, pale stomach bunched up with his hard, leaking cock flat against it, leaving a vibrant glaze of cum up his abs, eyes watery gorgeous like that first night only now fixed right on Jin. Taking Jin in with every flutter of his eyelashes, sizing Jin up as his vision seems blurred with aching want, bottom lip caught in sharp teeth, devouring Jin with his eyes like Jin is the one sliding hot, wet fingers into him, curling up like that, making him burn and tremble. So reverent and without thinking, Jin chokes out the air he never inhaled.

And it’s immediate then. He feels those familiar long, strong arms come around him from behind, under his own arms, wrapping around his torso in a strangely alliterative pattern with Kei-chan’s quickening strokes. A hard, naked body presses to his back at the same time as the arms curl in.

“I take it you succeeded,” Junno breathes right against his earlobe, hitched chuckle as he runs his fingers steadily down Jin’s stomach, raking the fabric of his shirt with the hot pressure. Junno’s fingers are wet with lube as well. He could’ve been stretching Kei-chan himself before Jin walked in the apartment. The image brands him just as Junno opens his mouth against the side of his neck. Fingers slide intently under the hem of his untucked button-up, teasing at the sprinkle of hair at his stomach, scratching just barely.

But Jin never stops watching Kei-chan, who is practically mewling, heels now digging deep in the mattress, knee curling in as his fingers do the same, visibly touching that spot. The veins in his arms practically pop into appearance as he turns his wrist a bit, massaging himself until the cry he makes is lower, and his voice is cracked somehow like he’d been crying out longer, wailing even.

“I’ve had him at it for nearly an hour now. Imagine how he’ll taste, Jin-kun; you want to lick him, don’t you?” Junno says before letting just the very edge of his teeth graze over Jin’s shoulder, the sore place where he’d bitten before. The pain sends electric zigzags of thrills up and down Jin’s spine to his gut. He leans into it, realising he wants Junno’s teeth to dig deep, then maybe run down places he’s never had anyone. “He’s been telling me how he keeps imagining how good it’ll feel when you fill him, how he wants it hard and rough, stretching and ramming the inside of him.” Breathy chuckle. “He keeps using his fingers to pretend it’s you.”

Jin is hard with the mere thought of that soft, deep voice moaning this into Junno’s ear, like a shy secret. Junno begins to undress him, taking care to run his fingers in just the right way and Jin lets him, knowing Kei-chan isn’t going anywhere, spent, gliding hands over himself, sweaty and insatiable. Jin reaches down to his own belt, already wanting to curl Kei-chan’s legs around him, wants to feel the heat of him, swallowing him in over and over.

“Oh, please,” he mutters without thinking.

Junno comes around him, unknotting Jin’s tie with a tugging finger, dragging downward until his fingers catch at the buttons, yanking them apart with force. Junno makes easy work of his trousers, and within moments, Jin’s stepping out of them, shuddering as Junno kneels and immediately nuzzles his upper thigh. He glances down in awe and meets that blazing acidic gaze. “Watch Kei-chan,” Junno mouths before feathering a breath over Jin’s hard cock, letting the hot air blast over his bare shaft.

Jin has to make a great deal of effort, he finds, just to look away back at Kei-chan, and when he does he’s _so_ glad he did. Kei-chan has dropped the one leg he had over his own arm and instead begins to massage the end of his cock, writhing at the pace he goes on himself and it’s just the rhythm Jin would take, perhaps a mimicry of the rhythm he’d tugged Kei-chan off to that first night.

And then Junno mouths his balls and Jin just sort of falls apart right then. He nearly doubles up but instead braces his hands off Junno’s shoulders, shuddering in a stilted rocking motion as Junno closes his palms over Jin’s ass, curving his fingers in a bunching, gathered position. Licking and bringing them fully into his mouth while squeezing Jin from behind, Jin stops being able to breathe normally. Just when he thinks he’s at his brink of delirious feeling, Junno hums and Kei-chan, on the bed, echoes that cry with a rich, velvety tone of his own and it quakes Jin’s entire being.

Junno lets go and stands up, keeping his hands on Jin’s ass and Jin still braced against Junno’s shoulders. “Kei-chan,” Junno murmurs, sliding around behind Jin. In a surprisingly swift movement, Junno grabs Jin by his upper arms and pulls them back in his usual deliberate showcase of strength. Kei-chan curls his legs up just as Junno barrels Jin over and he practically face-plants, unable to use his arms to brace himself, right between Kei-chan’s ankles.

Junno laughs and Jin gets mad. It does him little good, though, because the moment he hears the metal clink and click of his handcuffs, Jin knows he’s done for. Junno pushes his arms up, wrists above his head, astride his back, and attaches them snugly with a snappy click that Jin can hear the smug coming off of.

“Payback, Agent-kun,” Junno murmurs, rolling him over. Jin is dazed by that smile once again or maybe it was the leftover shock from having face-planted into his own mattress. Either way, his head is spinning and his stomach has no bottom. He feels Kei-chan’s arms clasp around him and drag him upward until his head is buried in the pillows instead, his arms cast up against the headboard, bound and useless. Jin would feel self-conscious except for the way that Kei-chan slides down to lie beside him, eyes wandering, still garnering lustful awakenings with the mere touch of his fingernail to Jin’s left nipple.

For some reason, the sensations as Kei-chan leans up to catch his lips feels like Jin is balanced from a great height with his arms above his head in a tight woven cross. Junno looms over the both of them, but Jin has his mouth open under Kei-chan’s, tasting him, feeling his moans once more and finding how they’re mingling with his own as Junno’s large hands circle his ankles and part his legs, pushing against them until he bends his knees automatically. With Kei-chan’s tongue in his mouth, it doesn’t matter how he’s being spread, nor the way that Junno’s surprisingly cool, moist fingers trail from his dick downward along the underside to his balls, down, down, thrilling brush right along that sensitive skin above his rim.

Kei-chan makes a deliberate bite at his lower lip, thumb now tracing a purposeful circle over Jin’s nipples interchangeably, making his stomach seize up and his cock twitch on his stomach. Lips trailing from his mouth to his ear. “I want you to fill me,” Kei-chan says, first words in a while with his darkly, raw, used up voice, threadbare with want. Jin is shaking and he almost can’t believe the sound that tremors from his chest, high, quivering, desperate when Junno, having squeezed the lubricant all down Jin’s cock, is now trailing it still downward and pressing the pad of his finger down toward Jin’s rim. Kei-chan remains near his ear, tonguing it, lifting the lobe between his wet lips. “I want Junno to fuck you while I fill myself with you.”

In a distant, sane part of Jin’s mind, he might’ve registered that this is revolving a great deal around exactly what Kei-chan wants and surprisingly nothing to do with Junno appearing to orchestrate it, but that’s all whatever right now. Jin is all but wide-eyed as Koyama slides over him, straddling him but to face Junno. He breaks out into a shattered cry when Kei-chan takes Jin’s cock between his fingers in a rolling motion just as Junno presses a finger of his own inside. The stretch of it, hot and languid, punctuated by the coil of fingers around his cock, Jin starts to mutter words he isn’t sure the meaning of, begging pleading things, apostrophic phrases caught between pleases and their names, perhaps blended together.

And he can’t even reach out to touch either one. Can only feel the sensation from his waist down, stare longingly at Kei-chan’s long, tantalising back while Junno finger fucks him, ingressing with persistent fingers. Koyama slides forward, letting himself glide over Jin’s frame, his bright, beautiful body brushing Jin’s cock downward before he settles up, spreading his legs and slowly—oh—perfectly slow settling right down on Jin’s cock. The handcuffs click as Jin aches to grab those hard, angular hips and slide them up, feel how the swallow of it consumes him all upward and downward.

“Mm, OK, Kei-chan,” Junno grunts, slipping his fingers out of Jin, coming forward and Jin shuts his eyes, already knowing his mind won’t even be able to process the balance of it, the sheer filling contradiction.

Kei-chan leans back on Jin and he feels the angle curve him inside Kei-chan, probing something hard, sliding him upward into it and they both cry. Junno presses Jin’s ankles backward again before reaching up and curling Kei-chan’s knees to his stomach and allows him to shift until his legs are over Junno’s biceps just as he presses in. Jin watches, a protracted, gorgeous second where Junno nuzzles just against Kei-chan’s cheek before burying his mouth in his neck. As the hairs of Junno’s head cast a feathering ticklishness on Jin’s cheek, a kissing sound rings just so in the air while Jin feels a hardness begin to probe him, bigger than fingers, sliding steadily-- no pausing-- right into him.

“Oh god,” he manages voicelessly because at the same time, Koyama brings his knees down now bracing his feet against the mattress so Junno reaches down to cup the curve of Jin’s buttocks. Jin’s knuckles brush the headboard as he scrambles, hair sticking to his temples with perspiring moisture. Kei-chan slides up, his back running along the line of Jin’s stomach and chest as he rocks slowly, teasingly on Jin’s cock, curving it still with his position and Junno rides inward with a fluid roll.

Jin shouldn’t be able to move an inch with both their weights grinding down on him, but he’s writhing anyway, bucking up into the fill of Junno’s cock and the tight protest of Kei-chan’s ass. Both rocketing him interchangeably.

“Fuck, please…oh, please,” he whines, feeling like he’s cracking into two, stretched so full and Kei-chan beginning to pick up a jealous pace. Jin’s eyes water, but through it he sees how they rock over him and it’s just so fucking hot and he’s feeling every edge of their differences and sameness. He watches Junno’s arms flex, fingers digging a bruising hold on his hips somewhere in there. Jin’s legs are now dangling limp as Kei-chan runs his fingers through Junno’s wet hair, the both of them slick with their effort. Kei-chan rolls forward at the same time as Junno then and Jin thinks if they don’t go faster, he’ll never come. He’ll just lie here, drowning in a heat, bucking up into a cusp of wonderful he’ll never quite touch.

“Ah, faster, Kei-chan…Jin-kun~ faster!” Junno mumbles and Jin wonders if he spoke aloud.

Kei-chan’s gasps are heavenly, but it’s Junno’s voice coming over Kei-chan’s shoulder that makes it feel like a rumble of delicious, a vibratory relapse into their tight soaring movements. It can’t be any harder because when Junno comes in, he’s ramming like he could break something and Jin can taste Junno right near his panting open mouth just over Kei-chan’s shoulder. Not quite able to reach but with Junno’s harsh, merciless thrusts, Jin feels like they’re getting there. Jin lets his tongue lap up against the salty skin of Kei-chan’s back though as he pushes himself downward at a wicked pace. He’s being forced into the mattress, his back still arching into the two of them anyway.

And then it’s there with Kei-chan beginning to tighten, moaning out a shameless, body-shaking cry, still rocking but at a twisted, ungraceful pace that suits Jin just fine with the way Junno is hammering into him, breaths coming in quick and desperate a bouncing tic of time, as Jin’s fists crush against the headboard and his body tightens when he sees Kei-chan go limp between them, still sliding, but with the force of Junno riding, growls pounding out in a visceral airborne wavelength. His climax is like a frenzy itself, clamouring like a falling boulder, embedded deep in something soft.

When Jin finally comes, he doesn’t even have the strength to keep bucking upwards, his body seems to arch on its own, gliding on an electric shock, rattling him, and Kei-chan makes a breathless pained noise as he feels his cock pulse still inside the body on top of him. And Junno grunts voicelessly, harsh and wonderful all at once when Jin tightens around him.

They find it to be too much of an effort to break apart even when Junno appears to pass out.

Hours, perhaps only a short time passes, Jin falling in and out of the conscious. He is still intoxicated by Kei-chan’s scent; he brushes his nose over his shoulder, loving the smoothness of it. Kei-chan makes a distinctly overt purring sound. Jin smiles. “Junno never struck me as the passing out type…”

“Well…he hasn’t had much time to sleep,” Kei-chan replies softly. “But I’m glad now. He’d never let his guard down to sleep unless he trusted the people he’s with.”

Jin laughs, but not really; it’s more of an exhausted, but amused huff. “I probably shouldn’t have handcuffed him overnight.”

Kei-chan hums his agreement before brushing his fingers into Junno’s lank hair, brushing it aside to get a better look at him. Jin’s a bit amused to learn that Junno’s the type that sleeps with his mouth open, fangs bared and all.

“Come to think of it…how did he get out of these? They’re not broken.”

“You left the key in them, Jin-kun,” Kei-chan replies patiently, slowly, massaging the side of his thigh lazily.

Jin shuts his eyes. Right. Never used them before so the key never left the lock. Seriously. And Junno just stayed where he was despite this fact. Just seriously. How much trust can you be so naively ready to hand someone?

“Don’t worry about it,” Kei-chan murmurs, tone distant; words tumbling from somewhere sleepy. “The handcuffs will just serve to remind us of belonging from now on.”

He thinks of these words. How “from now on” sounds like a promise of something Jin never knew he wanted. Or “belonging” is as if he could possess Kei-chan; as if Junno in all his smarmy hilarity could be entirely for Jin. The both of them, forming this trio…falling into some kind of—dunno. He sighs against Kei-chan’s skin, too spent to think, really.

Jin’s still handcuffed arms begin to ache only after Kei-chan pulls a sheet over them all and drifts off.

 

 

The following day at work, Chief Nakamaru watches with some questioning as Jin gingerly lowers himself into the office chair. His thighs upward hurt every time he so much as takes a large step. And he can barely raise his arms without feeling like his tendons were made of broken glass.

“Bad workout,” Jin mutters.

“I see.” Nakamaru’s eyebrow is particularly stern over his monocle and Jin’s beginning to think that thing is just meant to make Chief feel stately. He can’t really blame him, but now that Jin has worn it; the novelty is definitely gone.

As if he seems to spot Jin looking at it, Chief pulls off his monocle and holds it out open in his palm. “Jin, when you put this on yesterday, did you know what it does?” he asks slowly.

Jin shakes his head.

“It records for me. It keeps a record of important conversations so that if a case leaves me stumped or if I’ve had a memory of something essential being said in passing, I can rewatch that moment throughout the day. There’s a chip in here,” He brushes his thumb over the little nub on the end of it.

So that makes sense now and Jin feels a bit of closure on that front, but then he remembers that he was wearing it yesterday and the conversation he’d had with it. His mouth forms a small “o” as he registers Nakamaru’s deeply, judging gaze.

Chief massages the bridge of his nose. “Blackmailing the Governing Family, Agent A? You realise that that makes _you_ the most powerful man on the planet, you know that, right?”

Jin is sitting frozen in this moment.

“How you managed to work the whole case within two days amazes me, and to be quite honest, frightens me a little. Still, you cannot necessarily be recognised for this case file…I figured I’d just send in your evaluation now.”

“But you said I had a week!”

Chief shakes his head. “I’m quite sure nothing you could do within the next week could _possibly_ top this. I will not mention what you’ve done, but I will certainly commend your fearlessness and swift thinking.”

It kind of feels like getting an A in a class he greatly dislikes. Jin nods, biting the inside of his lip to keep from breaking into a grin as he gets up for the door.

“Just…” Chief adds when Jin gets his hand on the doorknob. “Just don’t let the power get to you. Lay off the politics and just try to keep order…”

Jin nods again, woodenly. He figures his first effort toward being politic-free is not pointing out to Chief that since he used his name, the Governing Premier’s son currently thinks that Superior Chief _Nakamaru_ is the man with the power to destroy him if he toes the line. That may be a bit compromising in the long run.

Still, Jin never cared much for politics, really, in the first place.


End file.
